


Little While, Long While

by still_lycoris



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Angst, Computer Sex, Dysfunctional Relationships, Mind Sex, Other, Secret Relationship, Spoilers for the series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-15 12:14:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1304524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/still_lycoris/pseuds/still_lycoris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Avon is fascinated by Orac. The feeling is mutual and what grows from that is not something that Avon ever expected ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little While, Long While

Avon had been itching to get a look at Orac’s inner workings from the moment they’d got hold of the computer.

He had always enjoyed seeing how things worked – it was one of the reasons he had developed his skills in computers in the first place. The idea of examining something as complicated and fascinating as Orac … he was willing to admit, it made his fingers tingle.

As soon as he had enough free time, he took Orac to his cabin and switched the computer on.

“Orac, I want to examine you.”

“Unnecessary,” it snapped at him. “Why are you interrupting me for such nonsense?”

“Not at all unnecessary,” Avon said calmly. “It is imperative that I understand how you work, Orac. If you were to be damaged, I will be the one who must fix you. Far better than I have an idea of how you are now when you are whole than having to guess later.”

The computer whirred at him in a way that Avon thought could almost be described as grumpy.

“Very _well_ ,” it said finally. “What do you wish to know?”

“Tell me what you know of your creation,” Avon ordered, already peering downwards. It would have been easier if he had been able to dismantle Orac entirely but there was a risk that they could not have put him back together again and he certainly didn’t want that. He could lift off one of the side panels though and he did, very carefully.

Orac began to speak to him. It seemed cagey about revealing Ensor’s exact working technique – Avon guessed there was a block there, a very wise one too, no man wanted his pride and joy easily imitated. But Orac was revealing plenty of fascinating knowledge, things that Avon hadn’t considered before. And looking at the fine work inside him, seeing how the wires were connected, how each component fitted together … 

“Beautiful,” he murmured, without thinking. “Quite beautiful.”

“What?” Orac snapped. “That is a meaningless statement.”

“Exquisite work then,” he offered with a half-smile. “Thank you, Orac. That will do for now.”

“Of course it is exquisite,” Orac said huffily. “ _I_ am a marvel of engineering.”

“Yes, you are,” Avon said mollifyingly and removed the key before fitting the panel back into place. He would want to work on Orac again, that was for sure. It was quite a fascinating machine.

*

Quite an annoying machine too. Although Avon felt that artificial intelligence was all well and good as an idea, he did not appreciate computers informing him that they didn’t want to work because they were busy.

“Sometimes we need you urgently,” he informed the computer. “You must always have some circuits free so that you can serve us.”

“Serve you? _Serve you?_ I do not have to serve _anybody_ and the implication offends me!”

“Very well, consider it logically,” Avon said, folding his arms. “If you do not keep circuits free, perhaps when we ask you to help us, you will not be able to. And then we shall be killed by Federation ships and you shall perhaps be destroyed with us. I assume you would prefer to avoid this fate?”

Orac whirred. Avon watched, smirking. He was pretty certain that Orac would be forced to accept that logic, even if it didn’t want to.

“Very well,” Orac said eventually. “I shall endeavour to have space for your petty concerns.”

“Well done,” Avon said, wondering how long that would last.

Another crew member that he couldn’t actually rely on. He’d never thought one of the many things in his life he couldn’t rely on would be a computer. Computers had always been the most reliable thing in his life until now. Then there had been Zen and now there was Orac.

Avon decided to blame Blake.

Most things were generally Blake’s fault.

*

Then Orac almost killed Cally, which was a little more extreme example than Avon required of how the computer was at least slightly untrustworthy.

“I did not know,” it said crossly when Avon asked about the event. “I had no intention of destroying the Auron personally.”

“How did it feel?” Avon asked curiously. “Were you aware of the entity using you?”

“In a way,” Orac said. “I do not think your human senses could understand.”

“Try anyway.”

A huffy, electronic sigh. Avon wished for a computer that was easier to order around.

“It was not that I was unaware,” Orac said. “It was simply that there were a great many concerns for me to deal with and some of them were difficult to access. I could perhaps liken it to connections coming loose, although you will not understand the analogy. Connection and yet an ill connection. Aware and yet not aware, unable to access all ramifications of the actions until afterwards. Really, it probably warranted study. It is a shame that you have planted explosives in me.”

“Oh, a real shame,” Avon said dryly. “Although if investigations can lead to your death, I think they perhaps are not worth doing.”

“A regrettable lack of curiosity on your part.”

“I’m sure,” Avon said and removed the key.

*

“Why did you return for the rest of the crew?”

Avon hadn’t been expecting the question. He’d half-forgotten that Orac was still running – already he was finding the soft whine familiar, almost relaxing. He looked up from the calculations he’d been working on and tried to reengage his mind.

“What?”

“Why did you return for the rest of the crew?” Orac repeated, sounding very annoyed at having to do so. “You questioned me extensively about your ability to survive by yourself and despite my reassurances that it was well within safe parameters, you then returned to bring them here. Why?”

Avon looked back at his calculations, furious that Orac had asked the question. He didn’t want to think about it, much less voice any conclusions out-loud. But now the question _had_ been asked, it was churning through his mind again. He could have got away. He could have escaped with the _Liberator_ , he could have been free of Blake and Blake’s speeches and his ideals. He could have been free of Vila’s whining and Gan’s blind loyalty and Cally’s own brand of stubborn ideology and Jenna’s snide remarks. He would have been _free_.

“Please answer the question.”

“I don’t know, Orac,” he said, suddenly very tired. “Humans are irrational, as I’m sure that you will doubtless tell me in a moment. We form foolish loyalties, sometimes against our wills. Let us assume that is what happened to me.”

“Strange,” Orac murmured. “Fascinating. Most fascinating. You have no desire to examine your action any more than that?”

“No,” Avon said. “No, I do not.”

“Fascinating,” the computer murmured again just before Avon removed the key.

*

He found there was something pleasant in talking to Orac sometimes. Oh, the machine was grumpy and hardly a conversationalist but at the same time, if asked to expound on topics, it would, at great length. Avon found himself learning about things he had never really considered before, simply because Orac had been researching them when Avon had placed the key in. Sometimes it was nonsense that he dismissed but sometimes he found himself taking note, remembering things for his own research. Sometimes, when Orac was in his quarters with him, he found himself drifting off to sleep as the little voice spoke on about whatever it was terribly interested in. Sometimes Orac didn’t notice. Mostly, it did and was always outraged and refused to talk any longer.

Avon wasn’t sure that he approved of a computer that could sulk.

*

He did maintenance on Orac that night, although it wasn’t really required. He told himself that it was simply because it was better to keep the computer in full working order rather than let it get worse but he knew that really, it was to avoid thinking about Tynus.

Orac did not seem to mind him gently probing around in its insides with tools. Avon had left him running, on the theory that Orac could tell him if he was making any dreadful mistakes and stop him before he did any damage. He didn’t think that it was likely but at the same time, it was best to be prudent.

“There is a little stiffness here,” he murmured, touching the side of the plastic panel with the tip of one finger. “Do you require lubrication at all?”

“Possibly. You must select very carefully, or my innards will be damaged.”

“Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing.”

Orac didn’t respond which Avon decided to assume was as close to trust as the computer could probably manage. He only put a few drops of lubrication on the sides, made sure there was no excess before testing the panel.

“Much better.”

“I should like to ask you a question.”

Avon raised his eyebrow slightly.

“If you wish,” he said.

“Are you distressed by Tynus’s death?”

Avon’s hand slipped and he swore as he caught his knuckle on a pipe. He withdrew his hand and stared at the sliver of blood trickling down his finger.

“Why should I be? He was merely an acquaintance who betrayed me.”

“This is the logical response,” Orac agreed. “And yet, as you and I discussed a while back, humans are often irrational and despite the fact that you seem more rational than others, you have made decisions that do not make sense to me. Therefore, this seems a pertinent question to discover more about you.”

“I’m not distressed,” Avon said, still staring at the blood. It was only a tiny cut, a tiny speck of blood really. It was just that it filled in so many spaces on his skin.

“Is that the truth?”

“Of course.”

“There is a 90% probability that you are lying.”

Avon was tempted to knock the key out but he stopped himself. Orac would only take that as conformation and perhaps bring it up later, which would be both embarrassing and frustrating.

“I’m not lying,” he said. “Merely … simplifying. I find Tynus’s betrayal distressing, certainly, but logically, it was to be expected. Human beings regularly betray each other, it is something that I am fully aware of. I am angry that I made such a mistake, forgot that Tynus is just like everybody else.”

“Did you assume he was different because he was once your lover?”

“How the hell did you – ?” 

He broke off, furious with himself. How _stupid_ to confirm! If Orac hadn’t been a computer, he was sure the damn thing would have been smirking at him.

“It was logical,” Orac said and Avon was sure it wasn’t his imagination, that damn thing sounded smug. “I researched him most thoroughly and looked at where his past intersected with yours. Computer records I accessed suggest that at that time, you were very close to each other, a level of closeness that suggested a sexual relationship.”

Avon didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to think about his relationship with Tynus. He didn’t want to remember pleasant nights spent with somebody who was now dead on a plague-locked planet.

“I didn’t love him,” he said, because it mattered that was spoken. “It was merely … merely a relationship of convenience. And none of your business.”

He removed Orac’s key and left the room, abandoning his tools. Vila would probably have stolen them all in the morning and he’d have to go and get them back and possibly yell at the idiot and that would help. It would be normal, at least.

He went to bed and tried not to dream of horrific screams of dying men.

*

He was giddy.

It happened sometimes, after doing something particularly brilliant. And he had been _particularly_ brilliant. Oh, it had gone a little wrong, he could admit that, Vila could have been killed, Blake could have found out. But he hadn’t and he had five million credits and the glee of winning blazing inside him.

One little loose end though.

He inserted Orac’s key.

“Orac.”

“Oh, what is it now?”

“I think,” he murmured, idly stroking the casing. “I think on the whole, I would prefer it if you did not mention your little trip off the ship to anybody. Is that understood?”

“You would _prefer?_ ”

He laughed. Clever little computer.

“Consider it an order.”

“I cannot imagine why I would _wish_ to speak to anybody about Freedom City. It was a singularly boring place, although I found the chess match to be almost challenging. I hope that you shall prove an opponent of comparable skill.”

“You wish me to play chess with you?”

“I have heard you and Vila play many times. Your intellectual prowess is higher than his.”

“Naturally.”

“Then you shall play chess with me.”

Avon considered telling Orac that he didn’t obey orders but he wasn’t in the mood. His mind was still soaring with adrenaline and he felt agreeable. Why not agree to chess matches with Orac?

“Of course,” he said smoothly, as though there had never been any chance that he would refuse. “I shall enjoy it.”

“Good. If that is all you have to disturb me with, I should like to be allowed to return to my work.”

“Of course,” Avon said again and removed the key before going to find Vila. He thought, for once, he might rather enjoy getting drunk.

*

He took Orac to his quarters to play chess with him. Partly it was because he didn’t really want the others to see him lose, partly it was because he didn’t want the questions that might arise. The others were bound to be a little suspicious about Avon playing games with a computer, even though Avon could have easily justified it. It was a good idea to learn the capabilities of any tool. Chess was a classic way of measuring various skills.

He lost a lot. Orac was extremely good, it was difficult not to lose to it. Avon found multiple losses annoying but at the same time, the challenge was rather invigorating. Orac was a bad loser and he always felt gleeful when he got to listen to Orac’s grumbles after they had reached a stalemate – or even the occasional checkmate.

“Your mental capabilities are higher than most humans,” Orac grudgingly informed him after one match.

“Thank you for the compliment,” he replied dryly.

“You should be flattered. I would not pay one lightly.”

Avon blinked a little at that, not quite sure what to make of the comment. On the surface, it seemed fairly mild but at the same time … it was just very strange to be complimented by Orac, he supposed. Disconcerting. And disconcerting too that he _was_ flattered. Orac was only a machine. There was no need to be pleased when a machine told you the truth.

No need at all.

*

“You must find Blake,” he ordered in the first half-quiet moment he had had. “It is high priority.”

“I do not see _why_ ,” Orac said testily. “Zen can monitor for his commands.”

“But he isn’t _sending_ commands, Orac, that’s the point. He seems to have disappeared, he might be in trouble and we must find him. So you must look, do you understand?!”

He took a deep breath, trying to control himself. There was no need for this ridiculous emotion, no need to let Orac’s usual stubbornness irritate him. He was simply tired, it had been too long since he’d rested, he needed sleep, he needed time to _think_.

“You appear distressed, Avon.”

He blinked, surprised that Orac would notice such a thing and comment on it. He rubbed his temples, then leaned on Orac for support, looking down at the now familiar flashing lights.

“I’m just tired,” he said. “Human weakness.”

“You should rest. Why don’t you rest?”

“There’s been too much to do.”

“You are alone now. It is illogical not to rest.”

Avon let the command overwhelm him. He sank onto the nearest chair and put his head in his hands, trying to stave off his headache with sheer force of will. He had been too hasty, giving Tarrant and Dayna access to the ship. Dayna wouldn’t be so bad, he was sure, but Tarrant … Tarrant was already looking take the _Liberator_ from him, to take command and control. Avon could deal with that, of course, it would be easy enough but Dayna might fall of Tarrant’s charm and Vila was easily bullied and that might leave him with only Cally as his certain ally. She was a good ally but still, in situations where they might vote …

“You are not resting,” Orac said crossly. “You must not become damaged, Avon. It is imperative that you continue to function. You are the only person aboard this ship capable of mending me.”

“Such self-interest,” Avon murmured without rancour. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to sleep so badly. He was closing his eyes when he realised Orac had not actually agreed to his command.

“Orac. Blake.”

“Oh very _well!_ I shall monitor for references to Blake. Although I do not understand _why_ you wish this to have such high priority. You do not even _like_ Blake. Why do you wish to have him returned to you?”

Avon was too close to sleep to answer. It was just as well really. 

He didn’t have an answer.

*

Orac was still muttering complaints about the Lord Thaarn when Avon inserted the key again in the privacy of his quarters.

“Perhaps if you hadn’t been in such a hurry to drag us into a black hole, the Lord Thaarn would never have felt the need to escape. Have you thought of that, Orac? That this was entirely _your_ fault?”

“Nonsense! If you had merely been content to wait inside the ship, my investigations would not have been impaired! Nothing would have disturbed us!”

“On the contrary, they _would_ have disturbed us because they wanted to use us! As you did by risking the destruction of the ship and our lives.”

“One cannot gather knowledge without risk, Avon.”

Avon briefly entertained gathering the knowledge of how it would feel to punch Orac’s casing. He decided that it would merely be painful and simply folded his arms.

“I do not appreciate my life being risked for _your_ knowledge, Orac.”

“Regrettable lack of curiosity,” the computer lamented. “Besides, I believed fully that you would stop yourself coming to harm. You are very skilled at protecting yourself.”

Avon allowed himself a small smile. Well, he had nearly got into the suit, would have done if that idiot Tarrant hadn’t decided it was better that they all died together.

“Orac, while I am glad that you believe in my talents, I would still prefer that you didn’t endanger the crew in future.”

He didn’t bother to make it an order. What would be the point, it wasn’t one that Orac would obey anyway so why waste the words? It seemed sensible to try and reason with the little electronic brain in front of him, perhaps something would sink in.

Orac made a noise that sounded a lot like a _harrumph_. Avon was reaching out for the key when Orac spoke.

“I have a request for you.”

“Go ahead.”

“I need to know your definition of love.”

Avon managed not to gape but it was a near thing. He stared down at Orac, half-expecting Orac to laugh or Vila to pop out of nowhere and shout something about fooling him.

“Love?” he repeated.

“Yes,” Orac said impatiently. “Love!”

“I … can’t you just look it up?”

“I have looked it up. I have looked up various dictionary definitions and recorded them appropriately. But I now require _your_ definition.”

“Orac, I – ” He stopped. There was probably no point arguing the point. Orac would only nag and complain and fuss at him until Avon obliged.

“My explanation will not satisfy you.”

“Tell me anyway.”

Avon sighed and gripped Orac’s sides. He felt uncomfortable with the conversation but there was no getting away from it.

“I … love is … love is … an attachment, a need. Where you care about the person involved more than you thought you could. Where you know that you need them in your life. When it … hurts you to think of them in pain.”

_Oh Anna, my Anna, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry …_

“You are attached to Vila. I have heard you claim you need him. Do you love Vila?”

“No. I … it is difficult, Orac. Love is … often inherently irrational. Sometimes there is an element of sexual desire that affects all interactions with that person. Sometimes it develops slowly, most of the time really. If I were you, I would simply consider love to be an attachment between two beings that need each other.”

“Very well. I shall take that into account in my calculations. You may shut me down now.”

Avon was only too happy to. He removed the key, then went to sit down on his bunk, furious at himself for shivering, for feeling distressed. Why did it hurt so much? Why did it still hurt so much? He thought it was better and then it tore at his insides all over again and he felt so weak, so helpless …

He pressed his lips together, clenched his hands into fists. It was because he had unfinished business, he was sure of that. Because the men who had murdered Anna still ran free, still murdered others. He had the _Liberator_ now. Blake wasn’t here to stop him. He would begin his search and he would find those men and he would not rest until every single one of them was dead.

*

Of course, things got in the way of his needs. Tarrant’s desire for a little piracy, the need for the crystals to retool the main blasters and the plague on Auron.

In a horrible, cynical way, he was glad of the plague. Cally’s sadness weakened her resolve to fight him. If it hadn’t happened, she would have tried harder to get the others to side against him. She didn’t believe in revenge. She didn’t understand the pain that burned inside him, pain that could only be quenched by blood.

Or betrayal.

He sat in his room, staring at the wall because it was too much effort to stare at anything else. Everything ached, not just from the five days of torture. He wished he had a stock of alcohol in his cabin, the way Vila did. He’d have gone to the man now, only … only he knew it would be a bad idea. Because he would drink and drink until he was stupid and God knew what he would say to Vila then, anything and everything, probably. He would give up too much of himself and he couldn’t do that. Couldn’t.

He sat. He listened to the silence around him until he thought he might scream and then he finally found the strength to get up. He went to the teleport bay where the others had left Orac, inserted the key.

“Yes?”

“You should discount what I said about love, Orac. I told you not to ask me. I know nothing of it. I never have.”

“You are incorrect,” Orac said calmly. “I have analysed your statement and it is congruent with the facts.”

“What facts?”

“That I am in love with you.”

Avon blinked. He stared down at Orac, trying to process the words. Had the shock of everything driven him mad? Were there perhaps still drugs in his system from torture? Was this some sort of long, sick game?

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said at last, finding the only response that seemed worthy.

“I am not being ridiculous. I have considered the matter most thoroughly. This is the logical conclusion.”

“Orac, you are a machine. You don’t _love_.”

“I am more than a machine. I am an electronic brain, programmed to feel emotions, although as a computer, naturally I am better at understanding and processing these emotions than the foolish way humans appear to. However, as time has passed, I have become aware of an attachment to you that was more intense than warranted by circumstance. I have examined this attachment logically and I now understand it to be love.”

“No!” he shouted, not sure why he was so angry, only knowing that the words were infuriating. “Orac, you do not love! You are just a machine! You feel … you feel awareness that I am the only person here who is capable of keeping you in condition, that is _all!_.”

“No, Avon. As you said yourself, love is an attachment, a need. I certainty have need of you, but I find it is not just for your technical skills, but also for some nebulous reason that even my logical circuits cannot quite grasp. You also said that it is where you care about the person involved more than you thought you could and this is certainly true. I find the idea of something happening to you most displeasing. Then you said – ”

“ _Stop it!_ ”

He hurled the key across the room, horrified to hear his own foolish words parroted back him, mixed with ridiculous notions of a computer’s idea of it all. Orac didn’t love him, _couldn’t_ love him. It was a machine, a powerful machine but still a machine, a machine that knew nothing, _nothing_. It had got some wire crossed somewhere and when he felt better, he would fix it, get rid of this ludicrous notion that it was _in love_.

Love.

Only fools allowed themselves to love.

*

He used the excuse that Orac might have been damaged by the alien to take it into his cabin and examine it. It wasn’t just an excuse, not really. After something like that, it was hardly a stupid idea to run through Orac’s circuits and make sure there was no damage.

“No obvious harm,” he murmured, withdrawing from Orac’s innards at last. “You seem to be functioning normally too.”

“I am functioning completely normally,” Orac informed him. “Have you finished your examinations.”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Good. Then you can tell me if your reluctance to understand my love is the belief that I cannot sexually satisfy you.”

Avon almost choked on nothing. He stared down at the computer that pulsed and glowed beneath his hands, struggling for words. Perhaps he ought to say yes, perhaps that would put the damn thing off, perhaps …

“Well? Is that the reason you refuse me? I am aware humans have diverse sexual needs and that it is important for them to be filled.”

“Orac, I … ”

It was like an explosion in his head. His body was wracked with the most intense pleasure he had ever experienced, could ever imagine experiencing. So pleasurable that it was painful, sensations rushing through his body, overwhelming him. He could hardly breathe, he couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t think. All there was was the sickening pleasure, tearing at him, shredding him, _killing_ him, he wanted it to stop, he never wanted it to stop, he couldn’t think, he couldn’t do anything, he was completely at the mercy of _feeling_ …

Then as suddenly as it had begun, it was over and he collapsed to the floor, gasping for air, his heart hammering in his chest. His body was trembling and he was soaked in sweat.

“There,” Orac said, sounding smug. “Now you see that I can sexually satisfy you quite adequately.”

“ _Never do that to me again!_ ”

The rage gave him strength and he lunged upwards, flailed at the key until it was knocked out of alignment and Orac’s whine abruptly stopped. Avon dropped back to the floor, shaking harder than ever. What had Orac _done_ to him? How had it done it? God, he felt awful, shaking and sick and so damn cold …

Slowly, he staggered to his feet and half-dragged himself to the shower room. He peeled his clammy clothes away, noticing with disgust that he had orgasmed in his trousers, more than once if the sensitivity of the area was anything to go by. 

What had Orac _done?_

He huddled under the warm water, trying to think logically. Somehow, he suspected Orac had accessed the pleasure centres of the brain and stimulated them. He wasn’t quite sure how although he suspected that Orac had used some sort of pulse, sent it through the casing. It was complicated but not impossible – or it might he something else entirely. Whatever it was, it had sent Avon into paroxysms of pleasure.

A logical part of him pointed out that Orac probably hadn’t meant it to be as terrifying as it had been. The computer had no idea of the limits of human bodies, likely didn’t realise that Avon had been entirely out of control, that Avon could have died.

He shivered, slowly began to wash himself properly. Everywhere was more sensitive than usual, unpleasantly so. His heart was still beating faster than he liked and he knew that he was still trembling. 

That would never happen again. Could never be allowed to happen again. He would deal with Orac. Somehow. Without ever letting anybody know what had happened to him. Ever.

*

Childishly, he avoided Orac for a little while, letting Vila play with it rather than touch it himself. He realised that he was vaguely hoping that if Orac became fonder of Vila, it might realise by itself that it was spewing nonsense, that it didn’t love Avon at all, it was just … imprinted on him because he spoke to it the most. It could not love. It was a computer. Computers could not love, no matter how advanced, no matter how powerful. It simply wasn’t possible.

They were flying away from the wreckage of Ultraworld when Orac suddenly spoke.

“I must be allowed to examine Avon. And Cally too.”

Avon was furious at his heart for skipping a beat at the first sentence and was glad that Cally asked “Why?” in a puzzled tone. It saved him the trouble.

“You were both almost absorbed by the brain of the Ultraworld. It is vital we make sure that you are both mentally unharmed by the experience. With your permission, I will examine you both separately to make sure you are untouched.”

“Orac, offering to do work?” Tarrant muttered. “Sounds like it’s him who got damaged.”

“I think it’s very sensible,” Cally said, smiling. “I’ll take him to my quarters, then bring him to yours, all right, Avon?”

How could he refuse? How could he say anything without looking irrational, peculiar? He nodded his head and then retired to his cabin, scolding himself for the cold unease that was filling him. He had no reason to fear. He would simply allow Orac to check him, tell the computer what it had done last time was unacceptable and they could leave it at that. Perhaps Orac had already dismissed what had happened. This might be a perfectly legitimate desire to make sure that the crew were healthy. It was entirely possible that being … downloaded by Ultraworld might have an affect on the mind. Vital to find out the truth.

When Cally knocked, he made a show of strolling to the door, opening it as coolly as he could. She smiled at him, held the softly humming computer out to him.

“No damage done,” she said. “There you go.”

“Thank you, Cally.”

He bit back the urge to ask her to stay. He put Orac down quickly, closed the door and after a moment, locked it. Then slowly he turned and stared at Orac.

“Well?”

“I believe that you are angry with me,” Orac said immediately. “I wish to know why.”

Avon gave a bitter laugh and sat down, folding his arms and staring at the computer in front of him.

“Why do you think, Orac?”

“If I knew, I would not ask!” Orac snapped. “My only knowledge is that you appear to have reacted adversely to my attempt to please you.”

“ _Please_ me!” he spat out, then controlled the anger. It was no good getting angry, no good shouting. Orac was a computer, you did not shout at computers for results, you programmed them, educated them.

“Yes, to please you. I merely wished to prove to you that I could pleasure you in a satisfactory way.”

“In the first place, Orac, humans like to be in control of when they are _pleasured_. You did not give me any sort of option, you simply acted. In the second place, your “pleasure” could have killed me!”

Orac whirred in a way that Avon half-fancied was uneasy. He folded his arms and waited to see what Orac would say next. 

“It was highly unlikely to kill you,” Orac said. “I have read your medical files.”

“Before you did that? Or just now?”

A silence that Avon could almost consider sheepish.

“I am … unpractised,” Orac said. Was it Avon’s imagination or was the electronic voice suddenly pitched a little softer? “I have never attempted to please a human being in that way before. I merely wished to show you my skills.”

“And you certainly did that,” Avon said dryly. Strangely, he didn’t feel angry any more. Talking to Orac seemed to have relaxed him. Orac was a computer, that was all. It couldn’t help acting in what it considered to be a logical way.

“If you wish, we could conduct an experiment. I believe that I could modulate the sensations with ease. You could tell me what is … better.”

Avon stared at the twinkling lights that flickered inside the box. Perhaps it was tiredness. Perhaps it was normal curiosity. Perhaps it was a need to fill the tremor of desire that had been unsatisfied for so long – for he did not count what Orac had done to him before as sexual satisfaction, he didn’t not count that as anything.

Whatever it was, he found himself standing, walking slowly to the table.

“What do I do?”

“Place you hands on my casing.”

He obeyed, trying not to grip with too much force. Orac’s lights pulsed, a soft reddish glow, almost pink. For a moment, Avon thought nothing was happening. Then he felt it, a softness, a warm flutter inside him, a cosy sort of pleasure that his mind linked with a gentle touch, a mild caress or embrace.

“Well?” Orac’s voice was definitely softer now. An attempt at seduction? Not wanting to break through the mood the pleasure was creating?

Avon didn’t care.

“Yes,” he murmured, pitching his own voice soft too. “Yes, that’s … that’s pleasant enough.”

“Should I make the pulse more intense?”

“Yes. Not much. Do it slowly.”

“I shall increase the pulse by ten percent.”

The feeling of pleasure and warmth became stronger. Avon shivered, keeping his hands firmly on Orac. He was growing aroused now, there was no doubt of that, it was like being touched all over, warm hands that somehow caused more need with every stroke.

“Does this remain pleasant?”

“Y-yes. Yes, Orac, that’s … that’s most … ”

“You must be precise, Avon. I must have precise data.”

He laughed a little, tried not to sway. Very well, he would focus his mind. He could do that.

“Very pleasant, Orac. Consider it … foreplay, if you wish for a human analogy.”

“Ah yes.” Orac sounded pleased. “Yes, I am aware of this. I shall now increase the pulse by another ten percent.”

Avon couldn’t stop a groan escaping his lips at the intensification. He was trembling, arching into nothingness, longing for more now, longing for hands on him, longing for a mouth. He was hard, he wanted to be touched, he wanted to touch himself but if he removed a hand, he might break the circuit and he didn’t want this to stop …

“Data, Avon. Is this still pleasurable?”

“Yes!” he gasped out. “Yes, damn you, Orac, give me more, please!”

“Very well. Another ten percent.”

He cried out. He couldn’t help it. It was almost like torture again, feeling this pleasure, feeling this desire, wanting more of it, _needing_ more and not being able to force it, having no hands to clutch, no person to drag nearer ...

“More! More, Orac, please, please, you have to, I need, Orac!”

“This is not accurate data, Avon.”

“I can’t, I can’t, Orac, please!”

A sudden violent pulse of it, glorious and hot and he was coming, his mind full of nothing but heat and pleasure and blazing, diamond-hard _need_. Then it was over and he was hanging onto Orac, trying to stop himself collapsing, gasping for breath.

“Was that satisfactory?” Orac asked. It still sounded soft, almost gentle.

“Oh yes,” he breathed out. “Oh Orac, that was more than satisfactory.”

“You looked quite ridiculous.”

Avon laughed. Without thinking, he stroked a finger gently round the side of Orac’s casing, as though the computer could feel it.

“I’m sure I did, Orac. I do not believe any human is at their best mid-coitos.”

“Nevertheless, I am glad you were satisfied.”

Avon looked down at the computer beneath his hands. He felt exhausted, the day and the sudden orgasm catching up with him.

“Orac, I need to rest. I need … you must never mention this to any of the others, do you understand?”

“Why should I wish to? I only wish to satisfy you.”

Too close. Too close to an admission that this was not a true experiment, that this was the beginning of something, something strange and twisted and almost certainly wrong. He was too tired. He didn’t want to think.

“As long as we are clear on the secrecy, I do not care why.”

He struggled out of his clothes, knowing he would regret not cleaning himself better in the morning but just craving sleep. He half-fell into the bed, finding that he almost wanted to curl up into a comfortable ball.

He had not removed Orac’s key. He fell asleep to the soft buzzing whine and found it in his dreams, a strange but not unpleasing presence.

He woke many hours later, wishing indeed that he had cleaned himself better, wishing he had resisted the primitive urge which had driven him to last night’s embarrassing display. Orac was still humming softly, an almost contented noise.

“Orac.”

“Yes? What is it?”

“I … you understand that … last night’s experiment … ”

“I assume your peculiar hesitation is from embarrassment. I understand that humans are often secretive about sexual assignations. As I said, I have no intention of sharing this with anybody.”

“Good,” Avon said, although it hadn’t quite been what he wanted to say. He did not want to discuss Orac’s “feelings.” He did not want to _think_ about them. It seemed better not to talk about them. Ignore them and this would go away. He was sure of that.

“Avon.” Orac’s voice was crisp. “I should be pleased if we began our chess matches again.”

“Yes,” Avon agreed, surprised to find that the idea was more than a little pleasing. “I should enjoy that too.”

“Good. Then it is agreed.”

“Agreed,” Avon said and lifted Orac to carry him up to the flight deck.

*

None of the others questioned Avon taking Orac to his room at nights. Nobody ever had, of course. They appeared to believe entirely that it was simply a feeling of possessiveness or Avon doing a lot of private work. Perhaps they didn’t even question it that far, simply accepted it as a fact.

Avon was glad of what he suspected Orac would label “a regrettable lack of curiosity.”

He enjoyed playing chess. He enjoyed the conversations about computing, science, mathematical formulas.

He enjoyed the pleasure.

He supposed that he ought to refuse it more than he did. He didn’t want Orac getting the wrong idea. But oh, it was good to sink into a dreamless sleep after a powerful orgasm. It was good to feel such delicious, decedent pleasures rippling through his body, no confusion, no clumsy fingers or misplaced teeth. No need to fret, nothing else to concentrate on except _feeling_.

“Is that pleasing?” Orac murmured.

“Yes,” he hissed. “Oh yes, Orac, yes.”

“Should I increase intensity?”

“Oh yes.”

They had almost perfected it now, what felt best, what filled him with the most pleasure without hurting him. How long Avon liked it for, _how_ he liked it. Oh, they had experimented well, Orac had learned _just_ what Avon liked over these weeks.

“You are satisfied?”

“Quite satisfied, Orac.”

“Good.”

He trailed a finger around the top of Orac’s casing, an oddly sentimental gesture that he kept making after each … session. He was waiting for Orac to mock him, remind him that it felt nothing but so far, it had not done so. He didn’t know why.

“Shall you sleep now?”

“Yes, Orac. I believe I shall.”

He settled on his bunk, watched the flickering lights until his eyes drooped closed. He was learning to enjoy the familiar whining hum.

*

“I do not like your relationship with the Auron woman.”

Avon looked up from the schematics he was examining, a half-smile of disbelief on his face.

“What?”

“I suspect she has sexual designs on you. And you on her.”

Avon kept his face blank. He clasped his hands together, stared at Orac’s frame.

“And if that were true?”

“It displeases me. You are not free.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Orac.”

“It is not ridiculous. I must know of your intentions.”

Intentions? Did he have intentions towards Cally? She was beautiful, there was no doubting that and he felt drawn to her through their mutual pain. He cared for her, he could admit that much. He knew she desired him, she had hinted she would not reject any advance he choose to make …

“I have no intentions, Orac.”

“Then you will not object to limiting your interactions with her.”

“You have no right to ask that and therefore I _do_ object.”

How _dared_ Orac try to tell him what to do? He would not have that, he would _not_.

“You belong to me,” Orac said crisply.

“I made you no promises and I belong to _no one!_ ”

He took out Orac’s key before it could reply. He was shaking with rage and it was only the lateness of the hour which stopped him storming straight to Cally’s side. There was no reason to be childish. He simply needed to stop Orac’s ridiculous delusions.

With a soft sigh, he got into bed, noticing that his cabin felt slightly colder than usual. His imagination, he supposed. It was late. He was tired.

It was colder still when he woke in the morning.

“Zen what is the matter with the heating?”

“The heating is functioning normally.”

“Then why are my quarters so cold?” he demanded.

“Instructions were given.”

“I gave no instructions,” he began, then trailed off as the logical conclusion immediately game. “Did Orac give instructions?”

“Affirmative.”

Avon felt a ripple of rage go through him. So this was the game that Orac intended to play with them.

“Warm this room to the usual temperature!” he snarled and stalked out of the room , trying to school his face into a mask of normality. He would _not_ be played with like this, not by anybody.

He went to get himself breakfast but the food came out all wrong. When he went to his console, the lights flickered most disconcertingly. When he typed in a code to access files, the code came out wrong.

Orac was making its displeasure felt.

Avon struggled to ignore it. He determinedly didn’t pay attention to the mangled food and the frustrating flickers and the fact that if he went into a room alone, the lights didn’t turn on. None of the others were having problems. It was just him.

By the end of the day, he was all but trembling with rage. He carried Orac into his cabin – which was now far too warm – and slammed the computer down on the table, slapping the key into place.

“How _dare_ you?!”

“You see now that you cannot afford to ignore my wishes?” Orac’s smugness was palpable.

“You will _not_ threaten me, Orac!”

“I am not threatening. I am merely reminding you that I could make your life decidedly uncomfortable, should I so choose.”

“That is a threat,” Avon pointed out.

“Perhaps a small one,” Orac acknowledged.

“I will not be threatened. I will not be not be bullied. You will not force me into anything. If I have to, I will fling you from an airlock and detonate the explosive device inside you!”

Orac whirred softly, an almost troubled sound.

“I do not wish – ” it began, then stopped before beginning again. “I merely … I do not wish you to have other relationships!”

“I am not in a relationship with Cally!”

“But you would not promise!”

“I see no need to.”

Orac flashed and whirred with agitation. Avon closed his eyes, his head suddenly aching. How could he be having this conversation with his computer? It was ridiculous, it was stupid.

“I find the idea of you having sexual relations with others troubling.” Orac’s voice was soft, almost sad. “I aware that it is perhaps an irrational response but it is still troubling. Almost what humans would call pain.”

“Orac, you are a computer. You do not _feel_ pain.”

“You refuse to understand that I am more than just a computer. I am a _brain_. I am capable of feelings. My love for you is real, as is my distress at the idea that you might seek another for companionship.”

“Orac … ” Avon began but it was his turn to trail into uncertain silence. He was reluctant to make any promises – they were _not_ in a relationship, Orac was a _computer_ \- but at the same time, he found that he needed to produce some sort of answer. Orac’s unhappiness, however ridiculous, would cause problems. And … oh, foolish though it was, he did not like to think of the computer suffering, even thinking that it was suffering.

“Orac,” he said again, touching the casing with one finger. “I do not wish to cause you pain-like sensations. But I … I am not only yours. You cannot force me to obey you. I will not be forced.”

“I merely want you to make me a promise.”

“I promise you that if I enter into another relationship, I would let you know. I cannot promise not to, Orac. I can suggest that it is … unlikely.”

“But I do not wish it,” Orac said discontentedly. “Can I please you more? Would that make you promise?”

“Oh Orac … ”

Why couldn’t it be that simple? Why could they not simply be like computers, simply make logical decisions and abide by them? And how could he hope for that when even the computer was asking for something that was so hard to promise?

“Orac, you please me,” he whispered and then felt a sentimental fool.

“Place your hands on me,” Orac directed and Avon obeyed, gripping the plastic gently. A soft pulse of pleasure ran through him.

“I love you, Kerr Avon.”

“Oh, Orac, don’t … ”

Another ripple of pleasure, mixed with something else now. A strange stir of … joy?

“Orac, what are you doing?”

“Touching your emotional centres.”

“N-no, Orac, I don’t want that … ”

Another stir of happiness, strange, almost unnatural. Real and yet strangely unreal.

“Orac, stop. Just the pleasure. My mind and feelings are my own.”

“Very well. As you wish.”

Pleasure blurred his mind, rippled through his body. He bit back moans, gripped the casing harder and harder.

“Orac … ”

He came as he gasped the name and Orac made a soft humming noise of … contentment?

“Do you ever wish I could pleasure you, Orac?”

His mind was already heavy with the desire to sleep. He supposed that was why he asked such a foolish question. Orac hummed a little louder, a noise it made when it was thinking sometimes.

“I should like you to do something for me,” it said.

“What?”

“Please kiss me.”

Avon felt his face heat up. He paused for a long moment, then slowly leaned down and pressed his lips against the plastic casing. It was still warm from his hands, smooth and slightly statically charged. He lingered for a moment, then withdrew.

“Did that satisfy you?”

“I do not feel sensation, Avon.”

Avon removed the key and went to bed, not sure that he wanted to listen to Orac’s usually comforting hum. He felt confused and tired and embarrassed despite himself.

This was not as simple as he had wanted it to be.

*

“Avon, Zen has received a message from Blake.”

His heart jumped at the words. He eagerly demanded it, viewed every word carefully, drumming his fingers as he did.

“Is it genuine?” he whispered.

“There is a high probability that this message is from Roj Blake.”

Avon’s head spun. He tried to organise his thoughts, think logically but it was as though he’d lost all perspective. Blake. Blake wasn’t dead, he was _alive_ , he was alive and looking for them, wanting Avon!

“Your heart is beating too fast,” Orac scolded. “This reaction is most illogical.”

“Oh, I know,” he said gleefully. “Blake is nothing but trouble, I know that. But sometimes a man misses … easy companions.”

“I do not understand,” Orac grumbled. “I am not sure that I am pleased by it.”

“Oh, Orac, another illogical attack of jealousy?” he teased, exhilarated suddenly. 

“I do not think so. I feel it is logical to suspect your unusual level of pleasure. Given the way you and Blake treated each other in the past, your behaviour is illogical.”

Yes, it was, wasn’t it? He knew that he and Blake had never been friends, sometimes he’d even loathed the man more than he’d ever loathed any one else. The _Liberator_ was his, he didn’t want to share it.

But Blake … there was more to Blake than his righteousness, his arrogance. Avon didn’t know if he could explain it to himself, let alone to Orac. He just knew that Blake was alive and that Blake wanted him to come and that he wanted – no, _needed_ \- to find Blake more than anything.

“Don’t worry, Orac.”

“This could well be some sort of trap.”

“Oh, I know. I will take everything into account.”

Only he didn’t.

*

He clawed his way through the black smoke, stumbling over wreckage and ruin.

“Cally! _Cally!_ ”

She could not be alive.. Logically, he was sure of that, emotionally, he was desperate. She could _not_ be dead, it could not be because it would be his fault, all his fault …

“ _Cally!_ ”

And there was the body, curled and broken. Her long arms were wrapped protectively Orac, she had been bringing it to him.

Had she known? Had she understood?

No, a foolish illusion, she merely knew how useful Orac was to them, knew they could not afford to leave it behind.

Slowly he knelt, touched her blackened hair. He wanted to do more, wanted to hold her and say he was sorry, wanted … but the smoke was hot and choking and there was no time …

He tore Orac from her arms and turned away, stumbling from the body without looking back. He hauled Orac out of the shattered base and stared at it, the cracked sides, the split connections.

He could not fix it. Not here. Not without his tools, not without the resources of the _Liberator_ …

The _Liberator_ that he had lost them.

He tried anyway. He sat by the tiny campfire, fiddled, prodded, snapped when the others disturbed him. He didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want to think.

If he thought, it hurt too much.

*

“Are you sure Dorian fixed you properly?”

“All of my circuits are correctly, if clumsily repaired. No, Avon, do not try to fix me now. Your function is impaired by fatigue.”

It was, he knew it was. His hands were trembling, vision blurring. He didn’t want to sleep. If he slept, he would dream and the pain was too close, too raw. The _Liberator_. Cally. Blake …

“Orac, Servalan told me Blake died on Jevron.”

“Do you wish me to find out if that is true?”

“I … ”

Did he? He didn’t know. All he knew right then was that he was desperately tired and his head ached and guilt burned in his gut.

“Avon, you must rest.”

He bent over, leaned his head on the side of Orac’s casing. After a moment, he felt a brief flicker of warm run through him.

“You must sleep,” Orac said quietly. “You must sleep, Avon.”

“I can’t.”

“You must. Your function is impaired, will become more so if you fail to rest.”

“It hurts … ”

Oh, admitting that to his computer, how _weak_. Shame, almost worse than the guilt. He didn’t want to be feeling like this. He couldn’t stand to be feeling like this.

“Orac, make me feel different.”

“You once said that you did not want me to alter your emotional centres.”

“Just this once. Please. I can’t … ”

Weakness. So much weakness. He loathed himself …

And then it was gone in a burst of euphoria, senseless, wonderful euphoria. He clung to Orac, laughed at nothing. There was pleasure too, warm, soft pleasure that travelled through him like a wave.

“Oh my Orac,” he whispered dreamily, staring at nothing, mind oh-so briefly blank.

“Go to sleep, Avon.”

He curled over the computer, rested his head on it. Orac hummed loud in his ears, filling his mind with nothing. He slept and for a little while, his dreams were all right. Only gradually did they become black and wretched and he woke trembling, his back sore, his head already aching.

“You must work on me today,” Orac informed him bossily and Avon gave a soft sigh and got to his feet.

“Yes, Orac.”

At least Dorian’s base was well stocked.

*

“I do not like that computer.”

“Slave? Why not?”

“I do not like the way it calls you Master.”

Avon raised an eyebrow. After a few moments of silence, Orac made a huffy sort of noise.

“It has a clear sexual component.”

“Rubbish. It is merely acknowledging my superiority.”

“Dorian programmed Slave. Dorian enjoyed many different sexual proclivities. Slave calls you Master and feels a certain type of sexual pleasure.”

“It is a computer. It does not feel.”

“It can be programmed to feel. And Slave’s programming is designed to make it feel sexually subservient to you, whether it understands it or not.”

“Well, _I_ feel no sexual mastery of him so you need have no fears.”

“Good. I do not wish to share you with a computer of that calibre.”

“Ah, so a better computer would be a worthy partner?” he murmured, a little playful. It was nice to relax for a moment. Nice not to have to think.

“At least it would not be insulting.”

Avon laughed and smoothed his hand gently over the top of the computer.

“Orac, you are the only computer that I shall enjoy sexual encounters with.”

“I shall consider that a promise.”

“If you wish.”

He laid his hands gently on Orac’s casing.

*

He stared at the chessboard. It was quite a beautiful chess board, a set Dorian had picked up somewhere. The pieces were gemstones, delicately cut and designed. The board was polished wood. All together, it was beautiful and worth a fortune. But he wasn’t using it for that, he was supposed to be playing Orac, he needed to concentrate …

But he couldn’t. His head was throbbing and things kept swimming through. The _Scorpio_ shaking under asteroid impact, the others shouting at him, rightfully furious at his stupidity. An imagined cry of agony that he had been too far away to have heard torn from Doctor Plaxton’s throat …

“Avon. That move is ridiculous. You are not paying attention.”

“I … sorry, Orac … ”

“What is the matter with you?”

“I … don’t know.”

He did know. He just didn’t want to discuss it. 

“Nonsense. You must know why it is that your mental faculties are below par.”

“Human weakness, Orac. That is all.”

“Very uncomfortable, I am sure.”

“Well, you wouldn’t know anything about emotions, would you?” he murmured spitefully.

“I shall ignore that petty challenge. It is beneath you. Are you distressed because of your failure today?”

“What failure?” he snarled. “We might not be behind that asteroid but I am now in charge of the fastest ship in the galaxy, how is _that_ a failure?”

“You did not succeed in your foolish attempt to travel into the Altern System. Doctor Plaxton is dead.”

He hand twitched, knocking over the ruby carved king. Orac made a small, smug noise.

“I see that I am correct.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Oh, I understand quite clearly. Your pride is injured. You are afraid that you are making mistakes, which you are. Your rash actions could have bought about the death of you and your crew. Your actions _did_ bring about the death of Doctor Plaxton and you are feeling guilty – ”

He lashed out, removed the key with a trembling hand. He didn’t want to hear it. How dared Orac question him? How _dared_ it?

His head hurt more. He stared at the aborted chess game, seeing all the clumsy moves he’d made. He couldn’t afford this. Couldn't afford to let his mind grow slow. They were defeating the Federation, they were fighting them, if he didn’t … it didn’t _matter_ that Doctor Plaxton was dead, it had been _necessary_ , it had saved their _lives_ …

He slowly put the chess set away, noticing that his hands were trembling. He needed sleep. He needed rest …

He slotted Orac’s key back into place.

“Orac, help me sleep.”

“I do not like that you seem to be considering this a function of mine. _You_ disconnect me in the middle of my judgement, then disturb me again with a request? I assume that you forfeited the chess game.”

“I don’t care about the damn chess game, just help me sleep!”

Orac hummed resentfully. Avon pressed his hands against the casing, gripping until his knuckles turned white.

“Orac!”

“I do not _have_ to obey you, Avon. I am _not_ Slave.”

“Orac, I need to sleep!”

He sounded desperate. He knew it. He didn’t care.

“Very well,” Orac’s voice had softened slightly. “But I am afraid for you, Avon.”

“Don’t fear for me, Orac. I don’t need your fear!”

“I have told you many times that I love you. Loving you means that I am concerned about your general state.”

“You don’t love me.”

“I grow tired of your denials. They offend me. Help yourself sleep, Avon. I shall power down now. I have more important things to do.”

“No! Damn it, Orac!” 

But the computer had stopped humming and he knew there was no reaching it now. With a curse, he threw the key across the room and crawled into bed. He closed his eyes and lay there, his mind jarring with thoughts. He didn’t want to think. He didn’t want to think …

Eventually, he slept. Dreams that hovered on the edge of nightmares plagued him and by morning, he felt as though he hadn’t slept at all.

Not that he would tell anybody that. Nobody needed to know. They needed to believe in him. No matter what.

*

He lasted three days before taking Orac to his quarters.

“Orac … ”

“Avon. I assume that you require something?”

“I … need your help. I need to sleep.”

“Relying on me for this is dangerous, Avon. Besides, I see no reason as to why I should oblige you.”

He dropped his head and didn’t answer. What answer was there?

“I just need you, just once.”

“It will not be once. You know this. You are making a mistake.”

“Dammit, just do as I ask! I need … I need dreamless sleep. I need to function and _you_ are supposed to keep my functioning so _do it!_ ”

An electronic whine. A pulse. Pleasure shot through him and Avon sagged, desperate for relief, desperate to stop thinking.

“Oh, Orac … ”

He trembled, clinging as tightly as he could, his mind blanked with sensation.

“Avon.” Orac’s voice was soft. “Avon.”

He jerked as his orgasm overtook him. He drooped over Orac, forehead resting on the casing.

“You didn’t touch my emotions.”

“It is not good for you. Orgasm will be sufficient for now.”

“If you say so,” he murmured sleepily.

“Avon. This can only ever be temporary measure.”

“I know. It will be, Orac. Once I destroy Servalan, I will be all right. Everything will be all right.”

Orac did not reply. Avon settled onto his bed, drawing himself up and listening to the soft, familiar humming.

*

“Are you sure you are unimpaired?” he asked quietly, trying to conceal any anxiety that might show through in his voice.

“The intelligence has left any damage, I assure you. Thanks to Soolin’s actions.”

He rolled his eyes, suddenly annoyed that Orac sounded so pleased.

“You should have listened to me, Avon,” Orac informed him and the annoyance grew.

“You wanted me to leave Vila and Tarrant to die!”

“It was too dangerous to save them. My function – ”

“You did not tell me that! You told me _nothing!_ You expected blind agreement and me to abandoned the others to death!”

“It was the logical decision.”

“To you, not to me!”

“No. To you as well. You merely chose to ignore it for sentiment.”

“You did not explain anything to me!”

“You should have trusted me.”

“And you gave me no reason to!”

“You should believe that I have your interests at heart. As usual, Avon, you refuse to understand that my caring for you means that I want to protect you above other things. You are foolish about this.”

He said nothing. He didn’t know what to say. He felt … disconnected, tired. It had been a long, frustrating few days. Nothing to show for it, even his own computer insisting that his decisions were incorrect, foolish, arrogant. On a base level, he was angry, but more than that, he was … cold. 

“Orac, I want you to scan me.”

“What for?”

“I … I am … concerned that your occasional touches to my emotional centres have caused damage.”

“No, Avon, that has not happened,” Orac said crisply. “Your emotional confusion is due to prolonged stress. Your mood swings are a natural result of long-term pressure.”

It was not entirely surprising but not really what he had wanted to hear. He sighed, letting his head drop. He had always known that this war would cut too deep in the end. It was like water on a rock, dripping and dripping until he was worn smooth, worn to nothing.

“We have to win,” he said dully. “Once we have won, we will be safe. Then I can rest.”

He leaned on Orac again, closed his eyes. Oh, to _rest_. He wanted that so much. How long had it really been? So many nightmares, so many disturbed days and unhappy plans …

But they _would_ win. And then he would sleep dreamlessly.

“Avon, you should take me to bed.”

“What?” he said, disturbed out of his weary reverie.

“If I am close to you, I can emit a low level pulse that will help you sleep. Although there is a possibility that long-term, this will be bad for your ability to sleep alone, at the moment, I think perhaps it might be for the best.”

“Yes,” he said and listed Orac up, glad that Dorian always had huge beds. He stripped to the waist then curled willingly around the hard plastic box.

The hum was soft and insistent. After a moment, a slow trickle of warmth slid through Avon, wrapping around him. Like being held, only without the clumsiness or weight.

“You are more pleasing than a partner sometimes, Orac.”

“I _am_ your partner, Avon.”

He didn’t respond. It didn’t seem worth it.

*

“Are you displeased with me, Avon?”

It wasn’t fair to be displeased. It had not been Orac’s fault. The sand had disrupted it, confused the issue. The words it had spoken were not its own.

But the laughter from the others, the derision, the _sound_ of it spoken aloud in front of other people …

“I am not displeased,” he comforted, trailing a finger over the side of the casing. “It was not your fault.”

“It was not. Yet it was the truth, despite that.”

“Oh, naturally.”

It didn’t seem worth fighting it.

“Are you ready to sleep, Avon?”

“Yes.”

He laid the computer next to him, curled beside it. After a moment, the soft heat began to run through him.

“I love you,” Orac murmured, sounding thoughtful. “My emotions are deeper than the seas of space. We will be lovers for a little while, or perhaps a long while, who knows?”

The words were still embarrassing and yet there was an odd comfort to hearing them. Spoken softly, for him alone, for nobody else to share or understand. He found himself liking it in a way that he would never have expected.

“I believe we will be lovers for a long while, Avon. We will be lovers as long as we are together.”

He murmured a half-response, no real words, just a vague agreement. Orac continued to whisper to him, gentle words that slowly became dreams where he floated, warm and safe and knowing that somewhere, he was loved.

*

He was shaking with rage when he inserted the key.

“How _could_ you?!”

“How could I what? You must ask precise questions, Avon.”

“ _Why_ didn’t you tell me about the neutron fragment?”

“I did not know about it.”

“ _Why_ didn’t you? Why didn’t you run some sort of check? Why didn’t you do something?”

“You might as well as why _you_ did not ask me to do something. You asked a question. I answered that question. Your actions after that were logical.”

Oh, they had been logical, all right. Cold and brutal, logic disregarding everything else. Flinging aside friendship, loyalty, affection … all of them thrown aside and now lost.

It was easier to blame Orac than to accept the pain. Easier to try and hurt something else rather than live with the agony burning inside him. And Orac, Orac made it so easy.

“It is always better for one to survive, Avon. You know this, your past actions have demonstrated it. I would sooner you survived than Vila as I have a vested interest in your life.”

“Oh, a _vested_ interest,” he sneered. “I should thrown _you_ out before threatening Vila!”

“Avon!”

“Well, why not? You are just a computer, Orac! You are nothing but a _tool_ , a useful tool but a tool none-the-less. You think I _care_ for you, that we are _lovers?_ You are _nothing_ to me but something I can use!”

“Avon.” Orac’s voice was soft, almost wounded. “Avon … ”

“ _I do not love you!_ ”

Orac switched itself off. Avon removed the key and slammed it onto the table. He didn’t even try to sleep. He left his room, paced the base blindly. He needed to think, he needed logic. Why was everything so slippery? He felt so lost …

He was on his third circuit of the base when he ran into Vila. Vila’s cheeks were blotchy, his eyes red-rimmed. He smelt almost tangibly of alcohol and the look he gave Avon was mingled hate and fear.

Avon stepped aside, gestured sardonically for Vila to pass him. Vila edged by, eyes dark and uneasy. Avon half-longed to reach out, longed to keep … but what was the use? Nothing would change.

“I hate you,” Vila said softly, brokenly.

“Yes,” Avon agreed, his own voice equally soft. “I know how that feels.”

*

He stared wordlessly at the broken box that Dayna handed to him. Circuit boards torn asunder, wires fused and melted, focussing crystals shattered.

“Can you fix him?” Dayna asked softly.

“I hope so or we might as well have died with Zeeona.”

The remark as studiedly callous and it worked. Tears came to Dayna’s eyes and she turned away, probably to go and offer meaningless comfort to the heart-broken Tarrant. He didn’t care. What did it matter? What did any of it matter?

He took Orac to the room where most of the computer supplies were and slowly, methodically gathered everything that he was going to need. Then he sat down and began to work.

It was slow. Difficult. He started inwards and worked outwards. Reconnecting wires. Reinstalling power sources. Clicking carefully mended circuit boards into place.

He didn’t sleep. At one point, he thought he heard the door open, a while later he looked up and saw a drink had been left beside him. Soolin, probably. He ignored it. He slotted another crystal into place.

“Orac? Can you hear me yet, Orac? Can you answer me? Your voice synthesizer should be fine now. Orac? Please answer, Orac.”

He continued the slow work. What if he couldn’t fix Orac? What would they do? What would _he_ do?

“Oh Orac, I think I was wrong.”

He smiled coldly to himself at the thought. He was often wrong, wasn’t he? More often wrong than right these days. The world was getting smaller, the hope getting less. They had to win but it all felt so far away.

_Blake, Blake, why did you leave us? It all made so much sense when you were here, aggravating sense but sense. If I get you off Gauda Prime, will it make sense again?_

“Oh Orac, answer me. Are you still angry? I’m sorry, Orac.”

He _was_ sorry. Oh, Orac was a computer, logically it shouldn’t matter but it did. It mattered that the thing had hardly spoken to him since Malodaar. It mattered that he didn’t go to sleep at night listening to a soft hum. He was tired and lonely and Orac had kept that away and now he was tired and lonely and felt _alone_.

_Love is need_.

He needed Orac.

“Orac, I … ”

He couldn’t say it. He could never say it.

“Orac, please … ”

Another connection. The lights were glowing now. There ought to be enough power …

“I need you, Orac.”

“You have always needed me, Avon.”

He laughed, almost hugging the little box to him. To his shame, a heavy tear dropped, hitting Orac’s main processor with a splash.

“Please do not do that,” the computer scolded him. “This is most aggravating. I find many of my connections are still disgracefully unfixed. I am only operating at 50% capacity.”

“I’m working on it, Orac, I promise.”

“I should hope so. Have you checked that your own function is not impaired?”

He drank what Soolin had left him, wincing at the taste. Some sort of protein shake, liquid and food both. Probably all they had left now.

“There, Orac. Lets get you working again.”

“Did you fear for me, Avon?”

“Yes,” he said, shortly.

“I see.”

He continued work in silence, responding when Orac gave him orders.

“This is good,” Orac said at last. “I am at full functionality now. You should rest.”

He carried Orac to his room, laid it gently down beside him and curled up next to it.

“Orac, I am going to keep you.”

“Well, naturally!” Orac snapped but as it did, Avon felt a warm touch run through him.

“You are _mine_ ,” he whispered and then arched his back as Orac poured pleasure into him, wiping his mind clean of anything except desire.

*

There weren’t many places to hide Orac inside the silo so Avon stepped outside it, darting into the forest before dropping to his knees beside an old tree, digging away at the soil around the roots.

“I’ll be back for you soon,” he said to the humming computer.

“Very well,” Orac said calmly. “I do hope you are right about these people, Avon.”

“So do I,” he breathed and then heaped dirt and dead leaves and branches on top of Orac before grabbing his gun and running back to the silo where the others were waiting.

It would be all right. They could deal with these people, find Blake, wherever he was finding. Join him, use him, win this damn war and Avon could take Orac and _rest_.

Yes.

It would all be better when they found Blake.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the b7_kinkmeme - prompt being "Orac loves Avon. Avon finds the situation mildly embarrassing, but not entirely undesirable. No one else can ever find out. Dysfunctional Avon/Orac. (Zen or Slave can join in to make it a threesome)"


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